Jerusha Bosarge

The day Jordan was born, the nurses at River Oaks Hospital twisted a tiny, peach-colored ribbon into a make-shift bow, and “glued” it to her dark, fuzzy head with K.Y. Jelly. I gently lifted all six pounds, fifteen ounces of swaddled, wiggling warmth from the glass-sided hospital bassinette, and fell in love. Everything about her was perfect: her crooked little toes escaping the pink and blue hospital blanket; her huge bright eyes, an enchanting blend of slate gray and baby blue, her fuzzy, chestnut hair reflecting the fluorescent lights; and that bow. .. a tiny, perfect fragment of ribbon sitting daintily on the top of her head.

Jordan is four, now. She has worn a bow in her hair every day for four years. Well, okay, maybe not every day. Certainly there have been times when she was sick in bed, or perhaps just lazing around in her pajamas without a bow (we’re not obsessed or anything). But, in general, if Jordan is fully dressed, then she is wearing a bow in her hair. It is simply a part of who she is.

Naturally, Jordan was wearing a bow the day Mary Clare died. It was black. Looking back, I wonder why I didn’t see that as an omen. She never chooses black. “It’s too dark,” she protests. But that day, she chose it of her own free will to match her denim zoo-animal dress. She said it reminded her of Daniel.

Daniel’s last visit was in July. It took Rebecca and her four boys eighteen hours to get to our home in Jacksonville from Little Rock, Arkansas. Jacob and Joshua were the oldest (8 and 6 respectively) and rode in the “way back” of the brown van. That way, Rebecca could have easier access to the younger kids: Daniel (3) and David (1). Mary Clare rode inside Rebecca’s swollen belly.

Rebecca and the boys lived with us in Jacksonville for nearly a month. It was close quarters. Nine and a half people (including Mary Clare) were crammed into a two bedroom apartment with less than 1300 square feet of living space. But that didn’t bother us. It never did. Rebecca and I had endured far worse. Nothing could shake our friendship.

The highlight of our visit together was a trip to the Jacksonville Zoo. Jordan’s favorite part, as usual, was the reptile room. It was so funny to watch such a seemingly prissy little girl captivated by the dark and mysterious creatures. But, that’s Jordan. She often understands things that most people misunderstand. She sees beauty where others can not. Jordan and I both cried when Rebecca and the boys left this time. It was the last time I saw Rebecca’s true smile.

It was only a month after our trip to the zoo that Jordan chose the black bow to wear to pre-school. She seemed so grown up. The phone call came after I dropped her off. It was something about a twist in the umbilical cord, although they can never be certain. We left for Arkansas the next morning.

It’s hard to believe, sometimes, that tragic moments can happen on beautiful days. That’s how it felt on that unseasonably cool September morning in Arkansas. There wasn’t a single cloud in the brilliant blue sky. A steady, gentle breeze bathed the landscape in sweet soft birdsong. It was difficult to comprehend the contrasting sorrow that filled the church. Every eye wept, transfixed upon the tiny doll-sized coffin draped in white and surrounded by candles. Mary Clare. When Mass ended, the boys helped their father carry their sister to the hearse.

“Where are Mary Clare’s flowers, Mommy?” Jordan asked softly. “Big Mama had lots of flowers when she died. Where are Mary Clare’s?” Big Mama was Jordan’s great grandmother. She died two months before.

“Every funeral is different, Sweetie.” I replied. She frowned as the long procession of cars wound its way toward the cemetery. I opened the window of our minivan, struggling for a firmer grasp on reality. The birds were still singing. Jordan was wearing a white bow with a pink and white smocked dress. Could this really be happening?

Mary Clare arrived first, and was gently suspended above a deep hole in the earth. The burial service began as darkly-clad mourners filed between rows of fold out chairs. Jordan pulled my sleeve, “Mommy, I still don’t see any flowers.”

“It’s okay, Sweetie. Not all funerals have flowers.” I tried to redirect my attention to the service, but Jordan would no longer look at the coffin. From the corner of my eye, I could see her head turning to look around the cemetery.

After a final prayer, we were dismissed. Jordan, Abigail (Jordan‘s baby sister), and I walked around a bit while waiting for the receiving line to dissipate. Jordan searched the ground intently. “What are you looking for, Sweetheart?”

“I’m trying to find flowers for Mary Clare.”

“That’s really sweet, Jordan. But, it’s okay that she doesn’t have flowers. She has our love.”

“I know, but I still want to give her some.”

Together, we searched the cemetery for wildflowers, but found only brown grass and weeds. “Don’t worry, Jordan. We can buy her some from the store and bring them back later.”

“But her funeral is right now!” Jordan was plainly distressed. She walked mournfully back to Mary Clare’s coffin, as I checked on the status of the receiving line. Almost done. I glanced back toward Jordan, and decided to join her beside the coffin.

As I began pushing Abigail’s umbrella stroller over the dry, uneven lawn, I paused in mid-stride. Jordan was talking to Mary Clare. ‘What is she doing?’ I thought as Jordan reached up to her head with both hands. She was struggling with something. Then she pulled the white, satin bow from her hair.As she refastened the bow’s metal clasp, Jordan spoke a few more words before placing it on top of the tiny coffin. Then, with a gentle flick of her fingers, she waved goodbye and walked away. Jordan never mentioned the flowers again.